


Irregularity

by Icestorm238



Series: Let's Make Connor Suffer [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Anxiety, Gen, Panic Attacks, Protect Connor, a series of Connor suffering, apparently this is a series now, enjoy?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-25 12:50:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15641115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Icestorm238/pseuds/Icestorm238
Summary: Gavin Reed gets a little too hands-on during one of his and Connor's many arguments.Connor struggles with the echoes of his past.





	Irregularity

The precinct was fairly busy as Hank and Connor arrived for the day - at 9:38 am, a massive improvement in Hank’s life, one that no longer drew surprised stares or provoked shocked exclamations, and one that Connor was all too happy to take credit for.

Gavin Reed seemed to be actually working for once, leant over his terminal instead of playing on his phone, as he always did until something (usually murder-y) piqued his interest. Bent over his shoulder, Chris Miller seemed engrossed in the same case, conversing intently with Gavin about whatever was on the screen. Tina Chen rushed past them, almost spilling her fresh coffee onto Chris’ oblivious back as she dodged another officer, but rescued it at the last minute and continued her dash for the exit. Civilians milled around, either deep in conversation with the detectives handling their cases or waiting awkwardly for someone to notice them.

Connor was aware that Hank found an increased civilian presence distracting, and predicted-

“Damn that’s a lot of civilians,” Hank grumbled as he manoeuvered around an entwined couple, one woman - a sobbing wreck - cradled in the other’s arms. “What is this, ‘bring-your-petty- issues-to-the-police’ day?”

-there it was: the complaint. “At least they’re giving us a job to do,” Connor said placidly, knowing that Hank was annoyed by the distractions, not the people themselves.

Hank grunted in agreement. “Speaking of, we should probably go revisit the evidence from yesterday’s case, see if we can get a fresh look at it.”

They began to weave through the crowd - Hank with an expertise that came with decades of practice, Connor with an ease born from sticking to Hank like a limpet and following his exact steps.

“I still think I could have found a connection if you’d let me continue looking last night,” Connor said, dodging an unfamiliar officer darting in the opposite direction.

He could almost see Hank roll his eyes even though he was facing the other way. “If I’d let you carry on last night then you’d still be there now,” he stated. “Trust me; we’ll spot something in seconds now we’ve taken a break. That’s just the way this fucking system works-”

“Hank! My office!”

Hank groaned as Fowler’s call carried above the chaos to him just as the duo reached their desks. “For fuck’s sake.” Turning, he scooped up his key to the evidence locker and tossed it to Connor, who caught it instinctively. “You might as well go and get a head start.”

Blinking, Connor stared down at the key in his hands. “Am I allowed to go in there alone?”

“Who gives a fuck?” Hank said, and dove back into the sea of people.

Connor couldn’t argue with that. With a shrug, he pocketed the key and made his own return to the crowd.

It was a lot harder to navigate without Hank forging a path for him, so the rather short trip to the archive room took far longer than it should have. The corridor splitting off from the main hall was blessedly empty in comparison, and Connor took a moment to appreciate the open space and slightly-dimmed volume.

“Hey, tin can!”

And suddenly, the quiet was gone again.

Connor restrained a sigh, turning to face Gavin Reed as the man sauntered over. “Did you get bored of your case, detective? You seemed enthralled when I arrived, which was admittedly a surprising sight given your track record.”

Gavin scoffed. “Yeah, whatever, have you figured out who tore your little plastic buddy apart?”

“Oh, I wasn’t aware of your sudden concern for android lives,” Connor said. “Do you want the in-depth explanation of the case or do you just want to tell me your ulterior motive?”

“No ulterior motive,” Gavin laughed, derision rolling off him in waves. “Just wondering how good Mr Android Detective is at solving cases - y’know, how long we’ve got before they replace us hard-working humans with you perfect plastic pricks.”

His tone shifted from false light-heartedness to bitter resentment as his response progressed, his face twisting in hatred and rage.

Connor let his head tilt to the side in a mockery of concern. “Are you suffering from a slight inferiority complex, detective? Because I’m sure there are people that can help you with that-”

“Alright, listen here, tin can-” Gavin snarled, his temper bubbling over and his usual anger surfacing red-hot. Raising his hand, he pressed on Connor’s chest, right over his Thirium pump regulator, and pushed.

His regulator thrummed at the touch, no more than it usually did, but Connor unexpectedly felt as though it was beating fast, too fast, almost as though it was about to beat right out of his chest, and Connor was struck by a sudden  _ fear _ .

Gavin had attacked his regulator before. It had probably been unintentional - Connor highly doubted that Gavin knew enough about the anatomy of androids to be able to specifically target one of their most vital biocomponents - but that hadn’t lessened the effect. Pain - a feeling Connor had been unable to define at the time because  _ androids didn’t feel pain _ \- had stabbed at his regulator, winding him and sending him crashing to the floor.

A different type of pain  _ which androids don’t feel  _ had coursed through his entire system at the Stratford Tower, when the deviant had ripped out his regulator and thrown it across the room in a spray of blue blood, sending an agonising wrench through the depths of his biocomponents and creating a blazing pain that seared his code and scorched his circuitry.

Connor didn’t want to feel pain again.

The fear overwhelmed him, blinded him, sent him spiralling down a dizzying drop into temporary oblivion, and when he regained his senses Gavin was pressed against the wall, pinned there by Connor’s tight grip on the man’s jacket.

“Don’t-” the words clogged in his throat. He swallowed unnecessarily, as if the action would help him force them out. “Don’t touch me there.”

Gavin blinked at him, stunned, and Connor was equally surprised. He hadn’t intended to attack Gavin. It had just… happened.

“What’s wrong,  _ detective _ , got an issue with contact now?” Gavin bit out as he shoved Connor away. Connor didn’t resist, letting himself stagger backwards. The question and title, while spoken mockingly, were lacking the full extent of vitriol and hatred that Connor had come to expect from Gavin. He didn’t have the energy to dissect that deficit right now, though.

Connor stepped away, putting more distance between them. “I don’t-” He cut off again. Why was it so hard to speak? Why was he breathing so quickly when he didn’t need to breathe at all? Why was he struggling to focus on what he wanted to say, the words escaping before he could begin to grasp them?

He ran a quick diagnostic.  _ All systems operational _ . He ran another. “I’m not- I-”

The detective edged forward, a frown spreading across his face, and Connor took another stumbling step back. “What the fuck’s up with you?”

Concern, mild but noticeable, slipped into his tone. Gavin was worried about an android. Something must really be wrong in the world.

Connor tried to reply but his body refused to respond, leaving him stuttering and grappling to say something,  _ anything _ .

“Connor, hey!”

_ Hank _ . Connor almost sobbed in relief, spinning to face the man. He strolled over, coffee in one hand, files in the other, nonchalance expressed clearly in the way he moved despite the argument Connor was sure he’d just shared with Fowler.

“What’re you still doin’ out here?” Hank asked, glancing suspiciously at Gavin as he sipped at his coffee. “I thought you’d’ve solved the case by now, apprehended the suspect, wrangled a confession and finalised the paperwork just in time for me to do absolutely none of the work.”

Gavin snorted. “Gettin’ lazy in your old age, Anderson?” Despite swivelling to face Hank as he spoke, he still flicked his gaze back to Connor intermittently.

Hank noticed. “Shut up, Gavin.” He turned fully towards Connor. “Are you okay?”

Connor still couldn’t speak, still couldn’t drag a response from the depths of his code. With one hand placed protectively over his regulator, he stared helplessly at Hank, who was holding himself stiffly, eyes narrowed.

“You,” he pointed at Gavin, “leave.” He then proceeded to completely ignore Gavin, propping his files beneath his coffee-carrying arm and placing his newly-freed hand on Connor’s shoulder, concern etched on his features.

Gavin shot Connor one last lingering look before escaping to his desk. Connor wished he could escape, too.

Swiping the key from his pocket (Connor had almost forgotten he had it), Hank steered Connor into the archive room, shutting the door behind them. “Right, what did that fucker do?”

Connor pulled away from his touch; the physical contact made something in his circuits twist and recoil in revulsion, even when it was Hank. He let himself slump, back hitting the wall, and slid down it until he was curled up on the floor, arms wrapped around his stomach ( _ and regulator)  _ protectively.

He wanted to reply - and he tried, he really did- but when he opened his mouth he  _ still _ couldn’t produce coherence. Hank didn’t push him, crouching beside him but keeping some distance between them. Keeping his gaze on his lap, Connor focused on trying to even out his  _ incredibly unnecessary _ breathing.

A pressure on his right hand - his clenched fist carefully unfurled, and something cool pressed into it - made him jolt, and he glanced down to find that Hank had passed him the coin that Connor had thought was in his pocket.

“I stole it when I took the key,” Hank explained with a sheepish grin. “Thought it might help.”

Connor let it roll over the back of his knuckles, repeating the motion from side to side, and found that it did help. His breathing  _ (faked) _ slowed to a natural pace and his iron clutch on his own stomach loosened considerably. “Thanks,” he eventually whispered, his voice a little shaky.

“What the fuck happened back there?” Hank asked, brow furrowed in concern.

He shook his head. “Nothing.” At Hank’s disbelieving look, he elaborated, “Gavin didn’t really do anything - anything worse than normal, at least.”

“So how come I walked in on you trembling like a leaf and Gavin, of all people, looking worried?”

The coin flew from one hand to the other and back again, Connor’s gaze fixed on it’s path. “He pushed me right where my regulator is.”

“That super important biocomponent? The one that got torn out in the Stratford Tower?”

Connor couldn’t restrain a flinch. “Yes. I remembered that event, and one other. I was-” He paused, steadying himself. “I was scared.”

Hank shifted, settling himself cross-legged on the floor instead of kneeling. “Did it hurt? In Stratford?”

“Androids don’t feel pain,” Connor replied immediately, the words flying unbidden to his lips. Hank shot him a glare. “...yes. It hurt. A lot.”

“Huh.” Hank began tapping a finger on his coffee cup. “So Gavin was unintentionally a dick this time.”

Watching the coin spin on his finger, Connor allowed a small smile. “This time, yes. For the most part.”

They stayed there for a few minutes more, Hank working his way through his coffee and Connor watching his coin move around his hands. Silence enveloped them like a blanket, interrupted only by the gentle  _ clink _ of the coin and the sloshing of the coffee.

“Right,” Hank sighed, shattering the peace as he downed the last of his coffee in one burst. “Let’s go solve a murder.”

He stood, tossing the coffee cup into the bin, scooping up his files and holding a cautious hand - a  _ you don’t have to take this if it makes you uncomfortable _ hand - out to Connor.

Connor tucked his coin away and took the proffered hand with a grateful smile. “Let’s go,” he echoed.

Later, when they emerged from the archive room with a calm Connor and a solved case, Connor didn’t miss the look Gavin shot him from across the room.

He met the other detective’s gaze, granted him a small smile, and the incident wasn’t brought up  between them after that.

Connor did take note, however, of Gavin’s clear restraint from physical contact in future altercations.

He was pretty sure he appreciated it.


End file.
